


Playing Family Charades

by worrylesswritemore



Series: Baseball AU Universe [2]
Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: M/M, Sequel!!, also i realize that the summary can be taken the wrong way but rest assured, alt title for this is, and trying to assimilate into a family so different from your own, commitment issues, have faith in me, i wont villify anyone, jason and trina will not be villains or problematic or anything, takes place about four months after the ending of games i play, they'll be human - just as every character is, this time its in whizzer's pov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 20:31:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14120214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worrylesswritemore/pseuds/worrylesswritemore
Summary: Hitting a home run? Striking out player after player without breaking a sweat? Becoming a leading contender for MVP four years running?Easy.Getting a boyfriend's kid tolikeyou? Getting a boyfriend's ex-wifenotto hate you? Mustering up the courage to sayI love youto the very same guy that you've risked everything for? Well...that's a different story.Whizzer Brown is agreatbaseball player. He’s a shitty father figure and a barely-functioning boyfriend, but hey, at least he’s trying.





	Playing Family Charades

**Author's Note:**

> YO IT'S YA GIRL, COMIN BACK AT CHA WITH A SEQUEL. 
> 
> I've really wanted to revisit this universe because I've left so many characters and plot lines unexplored, and this is just one of many planned attempts at carving out much-needed developments for background characters and expanding on main ones as well. 
> 
> I would encourage you to read the first installment of this universe, and I hope that you find enjoyment in this fic. 
> 
> And on a very serious and heartfelt note, I want to dedicate this fic to the many fans that have so very actively supported this universe and my writing in general. This sequel would not have been made without you.

Around this time last year, Whizzer was on the cover of every ESPN magazine, dressed to the nines with a shit-eating grin and don’t-give-a-fuck attitude. Nowadays, he’d like to think that he’s on to even bigger and better things.

Like discovering that school pick up lines are definitely the most _inner circle of hell._

 _“Just pick Jason up from school for me, Whizzer,”_ He mocks bitterly to himself, keeping a close eye on the bitch in the minivan behind him that’s _this_ close to ramming the back of his sports car, _“It’s just an easy errand, Whizzer.”_

Seriously, if Marvin didn’t quite literally own his ass, Whizzer would’ve just dropped off a bus pass for the kid.

The minivan honks for no apparent reason other than to let out her frustration. Whizzer is tempted to the do the same, idly wondering if he’d be able to stop once he pressed his palm down.

Thankfully for all parties involved, Jason pops into the car soon after. Whizzer smiles automatically, a harmless gesture in which Jason does not return.

The boy averts his gaze and demands curtly, “Where’s my dad?”

The joy briefly dims, but Whizzer doesn’t let his smile falter, “Suckered into working a little over." He doesn't say _"Guess you got stuck with me, Kid,”_ even though it's heavily implied.

Jason wears his heart on his sleeve just like his father, the displeasure at Whizzer’s sole company evident in his small frown, “Okay.”

Whizzer chews the inside of his mouth but instead of taking it out on the kid, he decides to freak out about the traffic cones lining the cars that prevent him from sliding out of line.

“Why are there fucking cones everywhere?” He demands, scoffing, “I mean, if I want to mow down a toddler, these little shit things aren’t going to stop me.”

“Whizzer,” Jason says cautiously, “Your window is rolled down.”

Whizzer looks to the side and sees a grim-faced teacher paused mid-step beside his car.

“Oh,” Whizzer puts on his celebrity voice, but the middle aged woman doesn’t seem too impressed, “Hi, Mrs. Hewitt. Lovely seeing you again.”

The teacher wordlessly moves on, casting a dark look over her shoulder. Whizzer puts his car back into park, slamming his head on the steering wheel as he impatiently waits for the six cars in front of him to pick up their own whiny brats and move on.

“So, Jason,” He says, forcing a smile, “How was school?”

Jason digs in his backpack, his body relaxing in relief once he finds his stupid cellphone and earbuds, “Fine.”

“Learn anything new?” Whizzer asks stiffly.

Jason shrugs, thinking that this non-answer will stall any further inquiries. And lucky for him, it does. Whizzer doesn’t protest when Jason puts his earbuds in and flicks on some music. Instead, it actually makes him relax, relieved to not be forced to carry such a one-sided conversation.

The Honda in front of him moves up just an inch, and when Whizzer doesn’t follow suit, the minivan behind him aggressively honks her horn.

Whizzer sighs, wondering if Marvin’s dick is really worth all this bullshit.

:: - ::

The only thing that Whizzer and Jason can talk about is baseball.

“You’re out of your mind,” Whizzer accuses, tossing Jason a can of coke as he settles in the couch beside him, “Jetson would never sign with the Bears. That’s kissing away his chances at any playoffs.”

“It’s not always about the glory,” Jason argues, “It’s about roots. He said that that was his favorite team growing up.”

“When I was a kid, I swore that I would only play for the fucking Cornhuskers,” Whizzer points out, causing Jasont to snort, “Trust me, Man, the promise of glory changes you.”

“Well, Jetson has heart,” Jason persists, “All you had was hair.”

“Excuse you, it was and still is _damn_ good hair.” Whizzer corrects cheekily, bumping his can with Jason’s in a mock toast.

They smile awkwardly at each other, the brief small talk being carried away with the wind and rendering both guys speechless. Whizzer racks his brain for another point of conversation, but they’ve already exhausted all the new gossip about the Major _and_ Minor leagues. They sit in silence for at least another ten minutes before they both hear the lock turn in the door and jump up.

“I brought Chinese food.” Marvin announces, juggling the doorknob, his briefcase, and the huge bag of food in his arms. Whizzer goes up immediately and takes the bags from his hands, smiling as Marvin lets out a deep sigh of relief.

“Thanks.” Marvin says, absently pecking Whizzer on the lips. When he draws back, Marvin doesn’t let him drift too far, his nonchalant expression fading into concern once he notices the sheer _relief_ in Whizzer’s eyes. He asks, “You okay?”

_Oh yeah. Just spent two hours with someone who looks like he can barely tolerate my company._

But Whizzer just smiles tightly, teasing, “I’m fine. What, were you expecting me to immediately hand you a martini and cigar?”

Marvin’s frown tilts into a crooked smile, “Yes,” When Whizzer rolls his eyes, Marvin breaks character with a goofy grin but still mockingly scoffs, “Some housewife you are.”

The knot in Whizzer’s chest loosens as he playfully shoves Marvin away from him. It’s only then that he breaks out of Marvin’s captivating orbit and realizes Jason is still in the room, leaning against the doorframe and carefully averting his gaze from the scene.

Marvin doesn’t seem as paralyzed by Jason’s presence as Whizzer definitely is, greeting his son nonchalantly as he puts his stuff down and walks over to the cabinets in order to set the table, “Hey, Kid. How was school?”

When they each settle into their respective seats, conversation runs much more smoothly with Marvin there as a buffer. Jason complains about homework; Marvin complains about work-work; Whizzer teases both of them and steals the dumplings off of Marvin’s plate. It’s all so disgustingly domestic.

Whizzer doesn’t _hate_ it.

:: - ::

Things are going great between him and Marvin, all things considering.

It’s _finally_ off season for the Major League, so Whizzer is able to spend more time in New York without the judgemental glares of his teammates and annoying news outlets that proclaim _Is Whizzer Brown straying from his team for possible New York contract_ ? (Uh, no, thank you very much. He’s going to New York to get fucked _by_ his boyfriend—not fucked _over_ by some shitty team).

And God, that’s the word of the fucking day, isn’t it? _Boyfriend_ . Whizzer Brown has a _boyfriend_ now. He has someone to hog all the covers and use up all the hot water and still tease him about things that he did like _two months ago_ and take him to shitty dive bars on date night because _romance_ apparently has no meaning in this day and age.

And truth be told, Whizzer is kinda _loving_ it.

 _Liking_ , he means. Like, really, _really_ liking.

Because Whizzer really, _really_ likes Marvin—you know, except when Marvin says stupid shit like, _“I love you.”_

Yeah, he could go without that, to be quite honest.

“Thanks for picking him up today.” Marvin says, giving Whizzer an absent kiss on the cheek as he continues to strip off his suit and get ready for bed.

Whizzer nods, stripping off himself until he’s completely naked. Marvin doesn’t bother hiding his leering gaze, sporting that shit-eating grin like he’s the luckiest man in the world to have _Whizzer Brown_ tangled in his sheets as well as picking up his kid from middle school.

Whizzer wonders if he himself ever looks so sappy like that, knowing that the answer is most definitely yes.

He feels that same soft smile creep up on him in the most meaningless of times—at breakfast when Marvin tries to eat around the blackened part of the toast; at night when they’re watching the same shows over and over again but Marvin still laughs just as loud and heartfelt every single time; at the early hours of the day, when Marvin presses his cold hands against Whizzer’s stomach and laughs when Whizzer instinctively kicks him under the covers.

Whizzer wants to make this evening light-hearted, but the sinking feeling in his stomach refuses to dissolve.

So he tries to play it off cool, but the miserableness creeps in his voice anyway, “I don’t think your kid is warming up to me.”

The grin is wiped off of Marvin’s face, his forehead pinching in confusion and displeasure, and Whizzer feels like shit for making that happen.

“What are you talking about?” Marvin asks, as painfully narrow minded and defensive as ever, “You guys get along great.”

“All we talk about is baseball.” Whizzer points out in a huff.

Marvin shrugs, not seeing the fault in this declaration, “So?”

“ _So_ I don’t wanna be just this big-haired, dumb baseball player who’s boning his dad.” Whizzer admits, voice stiff and controlled.

Marvin turns away from him in order to toss his crumbled suit into the laundry basket but Whizzer still notices the muscles in his back tightening, “Well, what do you want him to think of you as?”

Whizzer opens his mouth and closes it before Marvin even has time to turn back around.

After a brief, strained silence, Whizzer answers dodgily, “Look, I just don’t want him to think that he can only talk to me about baseball, you know? I mean, I’m not saying that we have to be best friends or anything. I just…” Whizzer looks to the floor just as Marvin looks at him, “...want him to like me.”

He feels Marvin immediately cross the room, reaching out to take both his hands and press them to his chest. Eager for a distraction, Whizzer flattens his palms against the planes of skin and Marvin, ever as cold and hard as stone, softens.

“Jason does like you,” Marvin assures softly, “Believe me, you’d know if he didn’t.”

Whizzer forgoes the initial reaction to argue, instead leaning his head on Marvin’s shoulder and letting his hands drop to the small of his back.

“I’m so used to kids being too starstruck by me to even say more than my name.” Whizzer admits, “It’s weird to actually have to _try_ to make people like me again after all these years.”

“Wow,” Marvin says with an arched eyebrow, adopting that haughty voice that he knows makes Whizzer want to deck him on principle, “And you call _me_ self-obsessed.”

Whizzer smacks him in the ass, saying indignantly, “I’m trying to be vulnerable with my feelings here, you dick.”

“And I’m trying to help you get out of your own head,” Marvin points out, pulling away in order to crawl underneath the covers, “You’re overthinking this, which is something I didn’t even know you were capable of doing.”

“Very funny.” He replies sardonically, joining him in bed as Marvin leans over and shuts off the lighted lamp.

They turn to face one another, the room so dark that they can only make out each other’s bodies by touch rather than sight.

“Jason will come around.” Marvin breathes into Whizzer’s hairline, and Whizzer wants to believe him so he does.

“But hey, if you really need to practice of getting unwilling people to like you,” He continues softly (almost pointedly _too_ softly…), just as Whizzer is on the point of sleep, “Tomorrow night, we’re going out to family dinner so you can finally meet my ex-wife.”

" _Excuse me?”_

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a review as it genuinely helps me so much - encouragement and improvement-wise. You can also find me at tumblr @moreracquetball. 
> 
> I not only approve of but strongly encourage creations (fan art, headcanons, etc) inspired by this universe. Please make sure to tag me if you do so!


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